Once in a while, I disappear from the world of socials. I don’t know what prompts the urge to burrow myself in a vat of my own thoughts, but this involuntary exercise makes me feel whole again. The mind is purged of a thousand distractions, as you can well imagine if you too know that feeling of disappearing down a rabbit hole every time that you open up your social media feed and emerge from it an hour later, knackered from the effort of updating yourself on the lives of others. While I get a whole load of inspiration from seeing people’s posts, it does takes me away from things I should be doing, and want to do, in real life. From time to time therefore, I switch myself off the socials for extended periods of time. I can then write with complete abandon, or as is the case nowadays, paint with my entire being focussed on say, getting the whiskers of a lioness in place, experimenting with ink and pen, playing around with values, studying the great masters. There is a whole lot to be achieved and not enough time in a day to get anything done in. More so, if you are tempted to spend hours staring at the spread of the green woods in front of your eyes and watch people sat at a beer barn, devouring hot dogs and crisps every afternoon without fail.
When I last blogged, I had emerged from the mists with my book, Ramblers in Cornwall. It was an overwhelming time because I had privately printed my book and was rather anxious about its performance. Being an author is not an easy job by half. You inhabit a world filled with words and it is a lovely head space to be caught in, but that said, it also tends to siphon off your peace of mind. There’s that thought nagging and poking you — are you doing enough to promote the book? But then, what is Enough? I suspect I would be terrible at Enough.
As a result the fact that we have made a move could not have come at a better time.
If there is a time for everything, this must be ours to set up our very own nest. Both Adi and I have craved it for a while now. Since we got married, we have moved across continents and apartments, and the time is nigh that we should have a bit of permanence till we decide to move somewhere else. As it would happen, we had been to Saratoga Springs during the first year that we had moved to the States. We were wooed by it. Imagine my thrill then at the fact that the dream has come to fruition. As it turns out, the universe does conspire to bring your ardent wishes to life. We are to be Saratogians after all. There is a curious sense of fulfilment and along with my lovely husband I am embracing it, for if this be the affair of life, to move on and make new starts, I am all in.
Alongside, as always, is wistfulness for what we have left behind. A quote I read recently reflects this well, so I shall leave you with it. The words are by an Italian writer called Aron Hector Schmitz, better known by his nom de guerre, Italo Svevo.
“Every time my surroundings change I feel enormous sadness. It’s not greater when I leave a place tied to memories, grief, or happiness. It’s the change itself that unsettles me, just as liquid in a jar turns cloudy when you shake it.”